Report Draft H: Further Invitations

Sharing and following up with others could be the most critical part of this project. Sharing was done in a wide variety of mediums, all of which brought an array of reactions and responses from the public.  

As a result of sharing our personal essays with friends, family, non-members, or distant acquaintances, it allowed for further invitations to be extended; such as rekindling a friendship, exploring more LDS content, having face to face interactions, and ultimately reading the Book of Mormon.

One of the main successes of this project is that it has sparked a family’s desire to share their experiences and beliefs on a blog. Taylor, and his family are now going to be contributing to a family blog to share with others, so the invitations to kindle relationships and gospel knowledge will be further extended.

Another success story is that, Keegan, a student, reconnected with his high school teacher by initiating conversation; he informed him of what has happened in his life these past few years. By providing a small background of his life updates such as serving a mission and getting engaged, it allowed for him to share with his teacher about his mission experiences which he might not have had the opportunity otherwise. The teacher responded immediately with great appreciation--which spurred an invitation to reconnect face to face. This could lead to further and more missionary opportunities.

These essays were a powerful outlet for many students to springboard further invitations with those they shared content with. Because of this, we can see how effective personal Mormon literature can be within circles of friendship -- with hopes that it’ll continue to spread virally to be an effective missionary tool amongst the public.

Emily Lewis, Lizzy Sainsbury, Ryan Parker

discovering the unexpected

I guess when I made my sharing plan, I figured it would run on its own, but I was wrong.
I discovered the struggle of having a more consistent conversation with people or being able to contact them and have enough to talk about to eventually get to the sharing part.

I realized its alittle difficult connecting with people across the world, but I am excited to do so. I feel this is the perfect missionary opportunity and reconnect to have a longer lasting relationship.

I was hoping for different results -- and maybe expecting that it would have been spreading virally, but that hasn't been quite the case. And then I realized maybe thats okay too. Maybe its okay to keep it within my circle of friendship. Sometimes things have to start small.

I realized that after I first began to share my work with others, I suddenly became alittle self conscious of my work -- wondering if they really meant their generous compliments.

I hope that I begin to see the fruits of sharing with others more readily tomorrow and in the week to come.

Accepting Insanity

I am a blue-eyed, flaxen hair, budding violinist. And I am insane. 

By definition, I am insane. 

Albert Einstein explained that insanity was doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results. 

I believed him. 

I stood outside the stall in the outdated women’s restroom of the church building. The walls painted mustard yellow matching the glowing linoleum. The door was a dark wood, and mirrors placed too high for me to please my vanity. 

My mother was quickly annoyed as I tapped my foot endlessly waiting for her to come out. I leaned against the wall like I had seen all the teenage girls do. Only ten years old, I carried myself with the aura of a twenty year old. 

“Please mom.” I pleaded. “It’s my biggest dream to play the violin, and you know that.” Actually, it wasn’t. Not until the week before when I had seen in a movie, the most beautiful girl with golden hair, gliding the bow back and forth across the strings producing a mesmerizing melody.  I hadn’t stopped thinking about her and how badly I wanted to be the girl in the flaxen hair. 

“I’ll think about it,” she replied. That was protocol—after being of a mother of 30 years she knew not to promise a child anything, even if she was absolutely certain she could fulfill their request. I rolled my eyes ridiculously obvious. This was only the tenth time in the last week I had pleaded my case for violin lessons. 

What I didn’t realize then in my adolescent world was the financial hardships facing our family. Two siblings married, one on a mission, one in college, and five kids still at home—each in their own private music lessons or sports teams. I was just adding on another strain on the already too thin family budget. 

She dried her hands, squeezed me in for a long hug, hoping I would forget my distant violin star fantasy. 

Weeks later, I anticipated the arrival of my brand new violin. I checked the porch on a hourly basis, anxiously waiting to hear the quick rap on the door of the delivery man bestowing upon me my greatest gift. Finally it arrived. I unwrapped each layer of packaging tape and boxes to unearth the most beloved instrument. 

I brushed my hands across the soft glossy chestnut wood. Little did I know that years down the road I would invest hours every day with this instrument. It would be a refuge, and a friend, and tool for good, and for learning. 

I began logging in more hours with my violin than I did with friends or social events. Six years later, being a violinist fell short of the high school status quo.  Suddenly, that dream of the flaxen hair girl was quickly dimming, until I caught myself up to playing at my age level. My violin instructor enlisted me in a series of Orchestra auditions. I was convinced I would be easily accepted. That year I tried out for the Metropolitan Youth Symphony.  I received my letter of rejection in the mail. Consequently, I wanted to lock up my violin case, and bury myself deep under the covers.  

 But, I knew I was different, and I had to try again. Undaunted, the next year, I tried out for the Oregon Youth Orchestra, and I was cut. 

Twice I tried and, twice, I was cut.  According to Einstein, I am insane. 

I was done. I wasn’t going to do it anymore. I would just settle for those non-audition orchestras where the only requirement is to breathe and show up to concerts. I was agitated. It stirred so much frustration, but, I retuned the strings, tightened my bow, refocused, and practiced again and again. 

These feelings of frustration didn't leave. My disappointment only deepened, until I remembered an old friend, in the Book of Mormon, who lived thousands of years ago. Nephi and I are alike. He was a young teen--just like me--who was commanded by his father to go back thousands of miles to retrieve a set of ancient records that contained his families genealogy, which is now part of the Book of Mormon. Nephi sees it as a task nearly impossible, but with much confidence in Jesus Christ, he knows he can do it. After three attempts, Nephi still failed. He too was insane. Nevertheless, he tried again. He finally reclaims the sacred records that he needs, fulfilling a task commissioned by God.  

I took strength from Nephi. I walked into the audition room, for the third time. This time depending on God like Nephi did. I picked up the bow once more, situated the polished ebony chin rest in its proper position, relaxed my fingers around the curvature of the glossy wood and played. I rejoiced as I played. And found simple beauty in doing what I loved, even if it meant I was insane. 

Through my years in life I have come to realize that to be insane means to be successful. Therefore, the opposite of insanity would be failure. 

According to Einstein, I am insane. 

Because of this, I was accepted into the Oregon Youth Orchestra. I kept my position as first chair violinist for years to follow. 

I became a leader, musician, and successor. 

I am Emily Lewis, and I will always be insane. 

Spreading Insanity

I originally wasn't going to share my essay with anyone personally. I am more the type to post something on a blog, and be completely ignorant as to who finds and reads it.
I enjoy being the phantom blogger more than a public face when it comes to my writing.
So this action plan is critical for me.

1. Kyna -- My last mission companion. We were best friends, and because she recently returned I've been wanting to get in touch with her. Now that she's been back for almost a week, i feel i'll be able to catch up with her. I know'll she will read it because she's been liking my posts on FB, and responding to my text messages. And I often listened to her poetry on the mission.

2.  My mother -- Of course I'll share it with my mom. She is the reason that I got to play the violin, or that I even succeeded. She was at every lesson and rehearsal, she sat by me every morning when I practiced. I think this would be an appropriate way to appreciate and thank her for her sacrifice. I'll send her the link to this blog so if she is interested can read everyone's essays.

3. Bronson -- just because he is my best friend, i know he'll listen. I read another version for him, and showed him a few other drafts of my essay and asked him for his opinon of how to apply the Book of Mormon in my essay. I know he would share it with others if I asked him too. I know he'll give me feedback because he'll want to help me. I'll share with him the video and essay in person.

4. Hayley -- My roommate. She has been my very faithful friend, and we talk about everything with each other. We usually shut our laptops and turn off our phones and have good quality conversation daily. I love that. Lately, Hayley's has had some troubles with her major, going back and forth between deptarment chairs to accept her petition, and its kind of uprooted everything she's done recently. I think my essay will be relatable to her, and find alittle more peace during this time.

5. My Blog -- I want to share it on here, because I know there are alot of people that I don't know or talk to personally daily that read my blog. Old friends, and friends of friends, and my sisters. I'd like them to see what I am doing. Because my video is quick and my essay isn't super churchy, I feel like its appropriate to put on a public audience.

6. Just an average Mormon / Jessica -- My cousin Jessica runs a site where average mormons share experiences on this blog for others to read. About daily lifes experiences that have religious tie-ins and aspects. I've posted previously on this blog (Actually the first draft of this essay), and I got some great attention and feedback.

7. Claudia -- a less active member in Argentina that I taught on my mission has been contacting me almost daily. She needs alot of help, and so I can't wait to share Viri's video and essay with them (Thats why I am so glad its in Spanish), because there is a a great audience we can connect with. I will share it with her on Facebook because thats how we communicate. 

the good and bad of LDS fiction

Doug Thayer's, "Will Wonders Never Cease," is a fictional telling source of our Mormon culture. We follow Kyle, an adolescent through a near life death experience of falling into an avalanche. But more importantly, we read and see how his heart changes throughout the process.

This book would not have the same literary effect if the religious aspect wasn't involved. In  literary fiction, the author is able to bend reality of everyone's personality, how they portray their testimonies, how they react, and family relationships. Thayer's portrayal of Kyle and his family, is very similar to other Mormon families, but can be unashamed with its opinion, thoughts, and words, considering these are fictional characters.

I've read a decent amount of fictional and non-fictional LDS books. And both carry their own strengths and weaknesses. A potential problem for fictional LDS books is that it limits immediately the reading audience pool. To read LDS fiction, you have to a prior knowledge, and a certain mormon lingo. But, the advantage of fictional LDS is to also use it as a teaching tool for many unaware of our faith.

The difference between Thayer's novel and others is his heavy LDS emphasis in the text, where other books I've read, such as When the Bough Breaks and The Secret Journal of Brett Colton, written by Kay Lynn Mangum, has a small thread of LDS reference and presence streaming through the book--little enough that non-LDS can read and still understand.

Thayer's approach allows for us, as readers to more fully connect with Kyle and his experience because it may be similar to our lives or those we know. Through LDS fiction we are able to explore reaching to small or large audiences. 

Accepting insanity

This snippet is a taste to my connection to Nephi in the Book of Mormon.

After trying many times to be accepted into renowned Orchestras in the state, and with every try I made, I was always cut. Maybe you've had a similar experience, unable to attain that goal at first--but try after try, you eventually succeed, and that is what is even sweeter.



Here is an excerpt to my essay, and don't be silly, I didn't put it up here for nothing, so read the full thing here:

"I brushed my hands across the soft glossy chestnut wood. Little did I know that years down the road I would invest hours every day with this instrument. It would be a refuge, and a friend, and tool for good, and for learning.

I began logging in more hours with my violin than I did with friends or social events. Now, six years later, being a violinist isn’t what everyone else was doing and that dream of the flaxen hair girl was quickly dimming." READ MORE HERE. 

Thanks Albert Einstein for teaching me to be insane.

Lets all be insane.

The girl with the flaxen hair

After a few drafts with my initial essay--i just wasn't happy with it. It was too churchy for me. And although my mission was a wonderful experience for me--I just felt it wasn't right to write about.

So I drafted some more. I considered writing about my mother--who is incredibly remarkable--while just on her resume it would say, "just a mom," she is an exception. She is a survivor of Polio, mother of nine children, and Oregon's Mother of the Year for 2013. But...that just didn't feel right either. Mostly because I felt I couldn't do her justice. I struggled, enough to find myself in tears trying to make this come together.

Then finally, I came to a brand new essay that I wrote in one sitting. Its something I never considered writing about--but what I feel is really about me. I read my essay to my boyfriend. He enjoyed it--because he felt that there was enough description to really be there in the scene. Although the scene covered over a period of 6 years, he was able to follow the timeline and pattern, and felt it was my appropriate voice and tone to the piece.

He suggested that I make a stronger connection with my analogies or how I used my Albert Einstein example--that it wasn't clear enough, and that I could relate that more to the Book of Mormon.

I was much more nervous to read my essay out loud. Usually posting things in a public site is much easier than reading and taking ownership in front of others, but i enjoyed the opportunity to read it out loud, because i felt i could take ownership for my words and work.

NEW ESSAY: The Girl with the Flaxen Hair

By definition, I am insane.

Albert Einstein explained that insanity was doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results.

I believed him.

I stood outside the stall in our outdated women’s restroom of the church building. The walls painted mustard yellow that matched the glowing linoleum. The door was a dark wood, and mirrors placed too high for me to please my vanity.

My mother was quickly annoyed as I endlessly tapped my foot waiting for her to come out. I leaned against the wall like I had seen all the teenage girls do. I was only ten, but believed I had the aura of a twenty year old.

“Please mom.” I pleaded. “It’s my biggest dream to play the violin, and you know that.” Actually, it wasn’t. Not until the week before when I had seen in a movie, the most beautiful girl with golden hair gliding the bow back and forth across the strings producing a mesmerizing melody.  I hadn’t stopped thinking about her and how badly I wanted to be the girl in the flaxen hair.

“I’ll think about it,” she replied. That was protocol—after being of a mother of 30 years she knew not to promise a child anything, even if she was absolutely certain she could fulfill their request.

I rolled my eyes ridiculously obvious. This was only the tenth time in the last week I had pleaded my case for violin lessons.

What I didn’t realize then in my adolescent world was the financial hardships facing our family. Two siblings married, one on a mission, one in college, and five kids still at home—each in their own private music lessons or sports teams. I was just adding on another strain on the already too thin family budget.

She dried her hands, squeezed me in for a long hug, hoping I would forget my distant violin star fantasy.

Weeks later, I anticipated the arrival of my brand new violin. I checked the porch on a hourly basis, anxiously waiting to hear the quick rap on the door of the delivery man bestowing upon me my greatest gift. Finally it arrived. I unwrapped each layer of packaging tape and boxes to unearth the most beloved instrument.

I brushed my hands across the soft glossy chestnut wood. Little did I know that years down the road I would invest hours every day with this instrument. It would be a refuge, and a friend, and tool for good, and for learning.

I began logging in more hours with my violin than I did with friends or social events. Now, six years later, being a violinist isn’t what everyone else was doing and that dream of the flaxen hair girl was quickly dimming.

As soon as I caught myself up to playing at my age level my violin instructor enlisted me in a series of Orchestra auditions. I was convinced I would be easily accepted. That year I tried out for the Metropolitan Youth Symphony.  I received my letter of rejection in the mail. I wanted to bury myself under the covers.

 But, I knew I was different, and I had to try again. Undaunted, the next year, I tried out for the Oregon Youth Orchestra, and I was cut.

Twice I tried and, twice, I was cut.  According to Einstein, I am insane.

I was done. I wasn’t going to do it anymore. I would just settle for those non-audition orchestras where the only requirement is to breathe and show up to concerts. I was agitated. It stirred so much frustration; I refocused, and practiced again and again.

One late night my dad popped his head around the corner as I practiced a challenging section nearly a hundred times.

“Emily, don’t tell mom this, but I will pay you twenty dollars if you just please stop playing that.” His glowering eyes spoke loud enough. I digressed and avoided his gaze.

I am like Nephi in the Book of Mormon. He was a young man who lived in Jerusalem was commanded by his father to go back thousands of miles to retrieve a set of ancient records that contained his families genealogy. Nephi sees it as a task nearly impossible, but with much confidence in Jesus Christ, he knows he can do it. Nephi too was insane. After three failed attempts, he finally retrieves the sacred records that he needs, fulfilling a task commissioned by God.

I took strength from Nephi. I walked into the audition room, for the third time. This time depending on God like Nephi did. I picked up the bow once more, placed the polished black chin rest in its proper position, relaxed my fingers around the curvature of the glossy wood and played. I rejoiced as I played. And found simple beauty in doing what I loved, even if it meant I was insane.

Through my years in life I have come to realize that to be insane means to be successful. Therefore, the opposite of insanity would be failure. Although rational thinking or ideology may disagree, I have done what any insane person would I have remain dedicated to my ideals.

According to Einstein, I am insane.

Because of this, I was accepted into the Oregon Youth Orchestra. I kept my position as first chair violinist for years to follow.

I became a leader, musician, and successor.

I am Emily Lewis, and I will always be insane

Accepting Insanity

By definition, I am insane.

Albert Einstein explained that insanity was doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results.

I believed him.

I stood outside the stall in our outdated women’s restroom of the church building. The walls painted mustard yellow that matched the glowing linoleum. The door was a dark wood, and mirrors placed too high for me to please my vanity.

My mother was quickly annoyed as I endlessly tapped my foot waiting for her to come out. I leaned against the wall like I had seen all the teenage girls do. I was only ten, but believed I had the aura of a twenty year old.

“Please mom.” I pleaded. “It’s my biggest dream to play the violin, and you know that.” Actually, it wasn’t. Not until the week before when I had seen in a movie, the most beautiful girl with golden hair gliding the bow back and forth across the strings producing a mesmerizing melody.  I hadn’t stopped thinking about her and how badly I wanted to be the girl in the flaxen hair.

“I’ll think about it,” she replied. That was protocol—after being of a mother of 30 years she knew not to promise a child anything, even if she was absolutely certain she could fulfill their request.

I rolled my eyes ridiculously obvious. This was only the tenth time in the last week I had pleaded my case for violin lessons.

What I didn’t realize then in my adolescent world was the financial hardships facing our family. Two siblings married, one on a mission, one in college, and five kids still at home—each in their own private music lessons or sports teams. I was just adding on another strain on the already too thin family budget.

She dried her hands, squeezed me in for a long hug, hoping I would forget my distant violin star fantasy.

Weeks later, I anticipated the arrival of my brand new violin. I checked the porch on a hourly basis, anxiously waiting to hear the quick rap on the door of the delivery man bestowing upon me my greatest gift. Finally it arrived. I unwrapped each layer of packaging tape and boxes to unearth the most beloved instrument.

I brushed my hands across the soft glossy chestnut wood. Little did I know that years down the road I would invest hours every day with this instrument. It would be a refuge, and a friend, and tool for good, and for learning.

I began logging in more hours with my violin than I did with friends or social events. Now, six years later, being a violinist isn’t what everyone else was doing and that dream of the flaxen hair girl was quickly dimming.

As soon as I caught myself up to playing at my age level my violin instructor enlisted me in a series of Orchestra auditions. I was convinced I would be easily accepted. That year I tried out for the Metropolitan Youth Symphony.  I received my letter of rejection in the mail. I wanted to bury myself under the covers.

 But, I knew I was different, and I had to try again. Undaunted, the next year, I tried out for the Oregon Youth Orchestra, and I was cut.

Twice I tried and, twice, I was cut.  According to Einstein, I am insane.

I was done. I wasn’t going to do it anymore. I would just settle for those non-audition orchestras where the only requirement is to breathe and show up to concerts. I was agitated. It stirred so much frustration; I refocused, and practiced again and again.

One late night my dad popped his head around the corner as I practiced a challenging section nearly a hundred times.

“Emily, don’t tell mom this, but I will pay you twenty dollars if you just please stop playing that.” His glowering eyes spoke loud enough. I digressed and avoided his gaze.

I am like Nephi in the Book of Mormon. He was a young man who lived in Jerusalem was commanded by his father to go back thousands of miles to retrieve a set of ancient records that contained his families genealogy. Nephi sees it as a task nearly impossible, but with much confidence in Jesus Christ, he knows he can do it. Nephi too was insane. After three failed attempts, he finally retrieves the sacred records that he needs, fulfilling a task commissioned by God.

I took strength from Nephi. I walked into the audition room, for the third time. This time depending on God like Nephi did. I picked up the bow once more, placed the polished black chin rest in its proper position, relaxed my fingers around the curvature of the glossy wood and played. I rejoiced as I played. And found simple beauty in doing what I loved, even if it meant I was insane.

Through my years in life I have come to realize that to be insane means to be successful. Therefore, the opposite of insanity would be failure. Although rational thinking or ideology may disagree, I have done what any insane person would I have remain dedicated to my ideals.

According to Einstein, I am insane.

Because of this, I was accepted into the Oregon Youth Orchestra. I kept my position as first chair violinist for years to follow.

I became a leader, musician, and successor.

I am Emily Lewis, and I will always be insane.